Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The Ultimate Crime

Mothers should NEVER, I repeat...NEVER...be allowed to get the illness that strikes their children.

My poor babies have been a mess of sniffles and sneezes, coughs and body aches this last week. And finally I succumbed. Tyler being out of town on business (go figure!) only adds to the angst (no guilt intended, my love, just the reckoning reality of life).

I normally pride myself on our sick rituals: When my girls fall ill, they are treated to warm baths daily. Hair is freshly braided and kept off of their faces. Clean pajamas with the scent of Downy softener lingering from the dryer. Nonna's vermicelli soup. Fresh linens and a mattress pulled out and in the living room with a host of movies and books and footrubs. Extra cuddle time (I especially love that their busy little bodies actually allow for such cuddling when they are tired and achy). Suddenly finding myself sicker than them has reduced this household to commands of "just wipe it off on your shirt" and "London, will you please play with Ellie on the floor - oh yeah, could you change her diaper while you're at it?"

And of course....OF COURSE...the one night I intended to brave a full night alone without Tyler, or a sibling to accompany me in our house....the alarm went screaming off. It was 10pm, and I was sitting on the couch (head throbbing), nursing Ellie. I stood up to go lay her down and

And what followed was a ridiculous scene of me running through my hallways like a chicken with my head cut off.

I read this interesting book on Survival a few years back. It basically categorized people into three separate groups based on their reactions to emergency, life threatening situations:

1. Those who maintain calm, rational thought and through quick maneuvering and physical agility are able to survive.

2. Those who freeze with fear momentarily, then gather their wits and act, and thus retain a 'chance' of surviving.

3. Those who act like blubbering, incoherent idiots and end up sealing their own doom through their massive displays of hysteria (even in potentially NON life threatening situations).

Sign me up for group 3. Basically, if I had been aboard the Titanic, I would have been the hyperventilating frenetic freakshow who tripped and fell overboard, drowning myself as they attempted to load me into a safe rescue vessel.

I ran up and down my hallways with Ellie still attached to my exposed breast. My thoughts rushed quickly:

Baby intruder Lily phone London which baby boob yell Tyler where is Tyler Mom help me killer knife get pepperspray gun shoot gun where is gun phone window phone London not working get cell phone call 911 or tyler or mom knife which child to grab boob.

I began yelling "Who is there?!!! Who is THERE?"

As a consolation for my insane stream of consciousness, I at least give myself credit for the commanding tone in which I was screaming up and down the corridor. I sounded mean. I even thought about including the F-bomb a few times to let the intruder know I meant business. Unfortunately, I still retained enough wit to realize that the vision of a woman with attached infant to naked mammary would most likely have a neutralizing effect on any of my threatening expletives.

I finally found my cell phone right as the alarm sounded,

"INSIDE MOTION DETECTOR. FAMILY ROOM."

Whaaaa?

It dawned on me. I had set the alarm off. Surprise! Because, like a true moron, I had set it as if we were 'away' and not staying in the house - therefore activating inside motion detectors. As I stood with Ellie, it had triggered.

I kid you not, I have never done that before.

So of course, the perfect night to do so would be when my husband happened to be out of town.